by K C Kahler
“Do you wish to hear more of his thoughts on your esteemed aunt?”
“Oh yes, please do continue. I have not heard nearly enough about my aunt through your cousin.”
She laughed and continued but was soon interrupted again. “Wit and vivacity tempered with silence and respect? He is a bigger fool than I suspected,” he grumbled.
“Do you not think, were I ever to be in Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s munificent presence, that I would be cowed into respectful silence?” He looked doubtful. “But you have interrupted me again. Mr Collins was not yet finished with his addresses, and I have not even gotten to my reply, or replies. As it turned out, one would not suffice.”
“Now you have really piqued my curiosity. I shall be cowed into respectful silence and endeavour to disrupt your account no further.”
As they walked slowly upstream, Elizabeth continued with Mr Collins’s thoughts on her dowry (or lack thereof) and then finally got to the multiple refusals she was forced to give. Mr Darcy’s silence could not last through the parson’s thick-headed failure to grasp her rejection. Amusement must win out. He laughed a full, generous laugh, with his head thrown back. He found the phrase “true delicacy of the female character” particularly humourous, and Elizabeth found his laughter particularly pleasing.
“But I am not finished. There are still two more refusals to be given.”
“Two more?” he asked, truly incredulous. “How can any man be so deluded about his own desirability?”
“You will hear his reasons for doubting my sincerity directly. It seems that, despite ‘manifold attractions,’ I am unlikely to ever receive another offer of marriage. You see, my portion is so small that it undoes the ‘effects of my loveliness and amiable qualifications.’”
Mr Darcy was no longer amused. His pace increased considerably as they walked up the hill. “Was there ever one so obtuse and insulting as he? You ought not to have been subjected to his insensitive ramblings—wholly mistaken ramblings! I should have intervened at the ball to spare you this.”
“Mr Darcy, please!” He stopped and turned back, looking angry. She continued, “I assure you, my self-esteem is intact. I had thought allowing his intended courtship to reach its natural conclusion would afford him a bit of much-needed humility when he was finally refused. It seems I underestimated how well Mr Collins thinks of himself, for he has simply credited my refusal to some fault in me rather than himself. But his opinions are nothing to me, and I did not require your protection from them. You have done enough to help with my problems already, considering you…well, you should not take such trouble on my account.”
He stared past her into the trees. “Come now, and let me at last finish my tale. I am not accustomed to so many interruptions.” At her gentle rebuke, his countenance softened, and he offered his arm so that they might continue walking. Though she had come this far without his assistance, she took the proffered arm.
She was happy to see the return of his smile when she mentioned the “usual practice of elegant females.” She then told him about her father’s singular way of supporting her refusal.
Mr Darcy could not keep from smirking at it, but then he shook his head. “Your father could have put an end to all this days ago. And though I commend his ultimate decision, he should have taken more care in pacifying your mother. Bingley tells me she was quite vocal.”
“Poor Mr Bingley. Lydia tried her best to soothe my mother during his visit, but she does not have Jane’s talent for it. As for my father,”—she shrugged—“he took my part when I needed him to. He is making small steps to better fulfil his duties. That is all I can ask, is it not?” She looked up into his eyes and was caught there again, like she had been during their dance. They had stopped walking, though she could not remember when. With some effort, she looked back down at her hand on his arm and pulled away.
“Now, diverting as my romantic conquests may be, I suspect there is another reason you asked to meet today. I think you wish to discuss Mr Wickham.”
He sighed, seemingly reluctant to take on the new subject. He searched her face. “Yes, you are correct. But I fear you may be too chilled to continue.”
“No, I am perfectly fine as long as we keep moving.”
“Very well. But you must not hesitate to tell me if you are cold.”
She nodded, and he presented his arm again. They began to walk back the way they had come. After a long moment, he began, “Perhaps I shall know better how to start if you share what he told you at the Philipses’ house.”
“Of course. He sat between Lydia and myself…”
While Darcy enjoyed walking with Elizabeth on his arm, he worried that she was cold. She had been warm when he first found her, laughing to herself as if she had not endured hours of verbal invective after fending off an unwanted marriage proposal. Her resilience amazed him. He immediately wished to share in her good humour.
But her reaction to his greeting went much further. Even through multiple layers of clothing, the feel of her in his arms, so alive and joyful yet so fragile, nearly undid him. How could this country miss throw him, the staid, reserved Fitzwilliam Darcy, into such extreme emotions—and after so little time?
He was as discomposed as Elizabeth was when she pulled away from him. If she had not been too embarrassed to look at his face, she would have known then and there that he was hopelessly in love with her. If he only knew her thoughts. Was she discomfited merely because she forgot herself? Or could it be more than that? Did she regret embracing him? Was she put off by his response? He could not blame himself for returning the gesture. In fact, it had taken all his strength of will not to press her closer and closer to himself.
But he could not dwell on it now; she was speaking on a much less pleasant subject: Wickham. “He sat between Lydia and myself. His powers of conversation are considerable. After perhaps a quarter of an hour spent on various topics, he asked about you. He said he had been connected to your family since infancy. He spoke very highly of your father, but…” she paused and stole a glance at Darcy.
“I can guess what followed: he was promised a living, but I cruelly chose to ignore my father’s dying wishes and gave the living elsewhere.”
“It cannot be true!” she cried.
“No, of course not, although parts of his tale are truthful. What he fails to reveal is that between my father’s death and the living falling open, he requested, and was given, a generous sum for its value. He took the money and no doubt gambled it away.” He watched her expression as shock gave way to disgust. “He is a most profligate spender.”
“As well as a prolific liar. How can you let him continue defaming your character to strangers?”
“People who know me will know the truth. Others may believe what they wish. I have no need to expose my private affairs to the world to defend myself against him.”
“But Mr Wickham has every charm of air and address, and he related his story with such sincerity. I fear most people, upon hearing the account from him, would believe him.”
“You did not.”
She shook her head. “This may pain you, but I may well have believed him if my acquaintance with you had not progressed beyond what it was only a month ago. You did not make a very agreeable first impression at the assembly, and for most people of Meryton, that is the only impression they have of you.”
Darcy thought back to the assembly. “I do not recall anything amiss or offensive in my behaviour that night.”
She looked at him askance, and he coloured. “I know I can never apologise enough for my comments, but my offense against you could not have been overheard by everyone.”
“I was not referring to that offense specifically,” she replied, leaving Darcy confused. Before he could ask what she meant, she continued, “You might be surprised at how many of my friends and neighbours have complimented my remarkable imitation of your formal cadence.”
“You repeated that to others?”
“I am sorry for i
t now because I worsened the neighbourhood’s opinion of you. But yes, I told the story with great spirit, as you can well imagine.”
“Am I to understand that everyone here knows I said…what I said? Even your parents and sisters?” His mortification was beyond words.
“Yes, precisely.”
“It is a wonder I have been received civilly by anyone! And that you should repeat such insults about yourself; I am astounded.”
She shrugged. “I am quite accustomed to being compared unfavourably with Jane. Even through childhood, I could not possibly measure up to her in beauty or goodness. You did not really say anything untrue, though your manner was insulting.”
Goodness? Was there anyone as brave and selfless as she? He stopped walking and turned to her. “I cannot tell you how much I regret my stupid, hurtful words. I assure you now, truthfully, you are one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”
His declaration left her quite speechless. She looked into his eyes for several moments, but then she turned away. It was so odd; most young ladies would consider such a statement from him a huge triumph. But he had clearly made her uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat. “You mentioned my giving another offense, separate from those infamous remarks, on the night of the assembly. To what were you referring?”
She clasped her hands in front of her, still refusing to raise her eyes to his. She took a breath before replying, “You carried yourself with much haughtiness and disdain for those around you. You would not speak to anyone but your own party. In short, you were above being pleased. Everyone was disgusted by your pride and found you most disagreeable. We may not be as fashionable or clever as those you mix with in London, but we know when we are held in derision.”
She finally looked up at him again, and he saw in her expression a dare, a challenge to dispute her assertions.
“I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers,” he said stiffly.
She would not be put off with this paltry explanation. “Why is a man of sense and education, who has lived in the world, ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”
“I certainly have not the talent that some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before.” He kicked a stone on the ground before him, unable to meet her gaze.
“You are shy!” she finally exclaimed.
He winced. “That is part of it. I am, by nature, shy.”
She boldly reached for his arm again so that they might continue walking. She spoke more quietly, coaxing him to explain himself. “What is the other part of it? Why do you so assiduously avoid becoming better acquainted with others?”
He took several steps with her before trying to answer. “I find it difficult to trust anyone outside of my close circle. Those who seek a friendship with me in town are usually after something, fluence, connexions, marriage, what have you. I know that sounds arrogant. I have been…injured in the past. I also must protect Georgiana from the insincere social climbers who might seek her acquaintance solely as a means to earn mine.”
He risked a glance down at her and saw only compassion.
“But you must know that Hertfordshire society is different from that in London. The people here only wanted to welcome you with pleasant conversation. They are seeking nothing further from you. Well, perhaps mothers are always seeking husbands for their daughters, but you yourself said that the mothers in town are much more scheming than even my mother, which is no small feat.”
“You are correct, of course. Perhaps with a little effort, I may improve the neighbourhood’s opinion of me. Do you think it possible?”
“Absolutely. You changed my opinion, a very difficult task indeed. And at the ball, you made a great start with everyone else by dancing with the local girls. As I said on your first night among us, we are simple people and can be won over easily enough. Then, if Mr Wickham shares his tale with others so liberally, they will already be predisposed to disbelieve his accusations against an honourable man.”
Blast! Wickham! They had reached the clearing where his horse waited. Her hand trembled on his arm. She must be cold by now. “In your eagerness to chastise me for my rude manners, we have neglected the subject of Mr Wickham. I have more to tell you of him, but I fear you must return indoors. You are chilled.”
She laughed. “It is only my hands, really. No doubt I deserve the discomfort for being such an impertinent scold.”
He grasped her hand with his free one. “Your gloves are too thin. You should have a fur-lined pair.”
She removed her hand from his, much to his disappointment. “What a dreadful extravagance, here in Hertfordshire’s normally mild climate!”
“Perhaps. But they are standard in Derbyshire. Georgiana has several pairs.”
“I can well believe that you protect her from all manner of threats, including the weather.”
With Wickham so prominently on his mind, he could not help but think of the time he had failed to protect Georgiana. His face fell.
She put her hand back on his arm. Her empathy never ceased to amaze him. “I am sorry. I have affronted you. I tease too much, I know. I am like my father that way.”
“No, your teasing is a mixture of sweetness and archness; you can never affront with that. But I have failed to protect Georgiana most wretchedly. She suffered a blow last summer due to my negligence.”
“Last summer,” she murmured as she searched his face. “But it could not be your fault.”
“It most assuredly was. I am her guardian. May I…do I ask too much—will you meet me here tomorrow so that I might tell you about it?”
“You need not share any painful memories with me.”
“But I wish to. I could use some female advice.”
“Ah, yes. Well, I always walk out in the mornings,” she said with a grin.
“And I often enjoy a morning ride,” he answered with his own grin. Then he was again mesmerised by her eyes, her rosy cheeks, everything. He knew not how long he stood there looking at her.
She shivered again and averted her gaze. “I should go.”
“I shall bring my extra gloves tomorrow. Though I am sure you would only need one of them for both your tiny hands.”
She laughed and walked away, shaking her head. She turned back suddenly. “You should expect a call from Mr Collins today. He wishes to be of service to you by carrying any letters you have for Rosings with him when he leaves tomorrow.”
“He is overcoming his heartbreak at your rejection by throwing himself into his duties, I suppose.”
She looked at him sourly. “I take it back. You deserve every bit of my teasing.” She turned with a huff back towards the road.
They had been together for nearly two hours, and he could have stayed with her there on the banks of Oakham Stream all day but for her shivering. Darcy cursed the cold as he rode back to Netherfield.
He entered the house and went directly to the stairs.
“Mr Darcy! You have taken a very long ride today and in such cold! I am amazed at how very hardy you are sometimes, yet so refined! A true gentleman!”
Darcy paused reluctantly halfway up the stairs. He had feared that Miss Bingley’s flirting and flattery would increase when her brother was not there to observe it, but he did not expect it to begin so soon. “Good morning. I take it that Bingley has departed already.”
“He has, just half an hour ago,” she answered. “It is a pity you did not wish to accompany him to London today; we could have all gone and taken the opportunity to do some shopping in town.”
“I had no need for such an abbreviated trip to London.”
“But you could have seen Georgiana, and I would be happy to help you shop for a Christmas gift for the dear girl.”
“Thank you, but I have already purchased several gifts for her.”
“Of course you have! You are an excellent brother! If dear Georgiana were not such a kind, gentle girl, I might fear that you spoil her. You are so fond of each
other. Do you not wish to see her?”
This had gone on long enough. “I always wish to see my sister, but she is quite content with Lady Matlock and Lady Leland. They expect me in three weeks’ time, as planned. Now, if you do not mind, I wish to change.”
“I look forward to sharing luncheon with the refined gentleman under all that dust,” Miss Bingley replied, boldly perusing his person as he turned to climb the rest of the stairs.
He arrived in his rooms just as Higgins sent Becky out on some task. The valet could not keep his reproachful look quite contained. “Your bath required more hot water, sir. It should only be a few minutes.”
“Thank you for seeing to it. My morning rides in the future will no doubt be of varying lengths. Perhaps you should wait until I return to order a bath.”
“Very good, sir,” Higgins replied impassively.
Darcy used the time to finish his reply to Lady Catherine, which he would give to Mr Collins. That way, she could not claim the post misdirected it.
I am as happy as you are at Anne’s improved health, Aunt, but do not make any such announcement. Please speak with Anne about this yourself, or at least wait until I can speak with you both in person. I assure you, any premature announcement about my engagement will be denounced and retracted at my demand. Such a public display would reflect very poorly on all of us.
That should serve to keep her quiet for a few more months, although her last letter was quite demanding on the subject. The time had come to finally disappoint Lady Catherine’s aspirations for the joining of Rosings and Pemberley. It had been far easier to let her believe what she wanted as long as no engagement actually existed. He and Anne had postponed the confrontation partly because of Anne’s poor health but also because they each found the rumours about the match useful. Whenever said rumour circulated, Darcy received less marked attentions from the fairer sex.
He added a few more paragraphs in response to what she had written, and then he signed, sanded, and sealed the letter. One unpleasant task was completed. Now he must endure lunch and dinner with Miss Bingley and a visit from Mr Collins. He would try to spend as much time as possible alone, or at least with Hurst, for the rest of the day.
